That he should have taken the time to write to this unknown correspondent shows that her letters must have possessed some intrinsic value for him, yet he refused to learn her identity.
"Chance permitted me to know who you might be, and I refused to learn. I never did anything so chivalrous in my life; no, never! I consider it is grander than to risk one's life for an interview of ten minutes. Perhaps I may astonish you still more, when I say that I can learn all about you in any moment, any hour, and yet I refuse to learn, because you wish I should not know!"
In reply to a letter from Louise in which she complained that her time was monopolized by visits, he writes:
"Visits! Do they leave behind them any good for you? For the space of twelve years, an angelic woman stole two hours each day from the world, from the claims of family, from all the entanglements and hindrances of Parisian life—two hours to spend them beside me —without any one else's being aware of the fact; for twelve years! Do you understand all that is contained in these words? I can not wish that this sublime devotedness which has been my salvation should be repeated. I desire that you should retain all your illusions about me without coming one step further; and I do not dare to wish that you should enter upon one of these glorious, secret, and above all, rare and exceptional relationships. Moreover, I have a few friends among women whom I trust—not more than two or three—but they are of an insatiable exigence, and if they were to discover that I corresponded with an /inconnue/, they would feel hurt."[*]
[*] /Memoir and Letters of Balzac/. The woman Balzac refers to here is
Madame de Berny, but this is an exaggeration.
He revealed to her his ideas regarding women and friendship; how he longed to possess a tender affection which would be a secret between two alone. He complained of her want of confidence in him, and of his work in his loneliness. She tried to comfort him, and being artistic, sent him a sepia drawing. He sought a second one to hang on the other side of his fireplace, and thus replaced two lithographs he did not like. As a token of his friendship he sent her a manuscript of one of his works, saying:
"All this is suggested while looking at your sepia drawing; and while preparing a gift, precious in the sight of those who love me, and of which I am chary, I refuse it to all who have not deeply touched my heart, or who have not done me a service; it is a thing of no value, except where there is heartfelt friendship."
During his imprisonment by order of the National Guard, she sent him flowers, for which he was very profuse in expressing his thanks. He appreciated especially the roses which came on his birthday, and wished her as many tender things as there were scents in the blooming buds.
She apparently had some misfortune, and their correspondence terminated abruptly in this, his last letter to her:
"/Carina/, . . . On my return from a long and difficult journey, undertaken for the refreshment of my over-tired brain, I find this letter from you, very concise, and melancholy enough in its solitude; it is, however, a token of your remembrance. That you may be happy is the wish of my heart, a very pure and disinterested wish, since you have decided that thus it is to be. I once more take up my work, and in that, as in a battle, the struggle occupies one entirely; one suffers, but the heart becomes calm."